


10:15 PM

by orphan_account



Category: Heroes Reborn (TV)
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Male Character, Brommy, Drabble, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV Second Person, also mentions of porn, mentioned tommy/emily and mentioned brad/emily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 10:15 PM when you realize that you left your cell at work, when you decide to practice using your powers to retrieve it, and when things just go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10:15 PM

**Author's Note:**

> So this...happened. I wanted to try my hand at second person POV and everything I touch turns into shipping. The rest was history. 
> 
> This is technically canon-divergent as it doesn't address what happens to Tommy at the end of 1x03 and kind of implies that there's been time between the events of the premiere and this stuff. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! xoxo

It's 10:15 PM when you realize that you left your cell at work. You might've gone days without noticing that it's not on your person. It isn't like anyone calls or texts you. But tonight. Emily asked you to call her tonight. An actual call. Real old school. She used that sweet voice that always turns your knees to mush. That smile you're pretty sure could make daisies grow if she were an evo like you. So, obviously, you promised you would call. And, of course, the one day you need your cell is the one day you don't have it on you.

Isn't life hilarious sometimes?

That's the funny thing though. Because it  _is_ hilarious that you're having a problem as spectacularly mundane as this. After you spent your whole life of moving around. After going from place to place, because you made something disappear. After you were seven snatched away for no reason other than your Evo Status. It's kinda nice to have this problem.

But it  _is_ still a problem.

And that's why you decide to get it back. 

It isn't selfish. Not really, not completely. You need to learn to control them, right? The last thing you want is for Mom to pack you up and try and cross the border again. You've moved so much. And, frankly, you're done.

And so, with zero ulterior motive other than to retrieve your cell phone, you fan your hand on your chest and think about Moe's.

You think about the smell of orange sherbet right when you open a new bucket. You think of the dark softwood floors, the soft green benches, the coffees and candies on the dark walls. Of the stickiness of chocolate that smeared over your hands, a cone splintered in your hand, when you accidentally crushed it because Emily patted you shoulder passing by. Of the floppy smirk on Brad's face when you had to grab a new cone for him.

 

* * *

 

For a second, all you can feel is that pin prickling in the soles of your feet that always comes with using your powers. Like you've been sitting pretzel-legged too long in front of the TV and your foot fell asleep. The next thing that comes is the restricting in your stomach; the phantom slap of wind burn on your face and your arms. It's the heat of every atom as it folds through space and matter to remove you from your room and whisks you off and away.

 

* * *

 

You don't have any time to orient yourself, it all flies at you so fast. The second you realize you're standing on old worn carpet instead of dark softwood is the second you see Brad spin around in the black plastic desk chair and lash out " _What the hell, Clark?"_

There's so much happening and you can't break it down for the life of you. Brad snaps his laptop shut in just enough time for you to make out the two beefy dudes jerking eachother off on his screen.

Your throat feels dry and you really can't control the way your eyes dip down and, yeah, Brad's got a boner.

A pretty massive boner and your stomach lurches and you spin around. "I didn't see anything!" You say, voice crackling higher than it's gotten since puberty.

And, yeah, nobody's about to believe that lie, but A for effort.

And, now, because you're an idiot, you're turning around to look at him and he's standing up. His fists clenched, shuffling all awkwardly. You wanna look away but - damn - did he get... _bigger?_

You brace yourself, knowing you'll hit the ground any second now. He's might've said he's got your back but you seriously doubt that still stands when you accidentally walk in on him with his gay porn.

Though, admittedly, you hadn't considered that before.

"Look I-" Brad says, and you're really struggling to look him in the eye and you're not willing to consider what this could possibly mean. "Don't make it a big deal, okay?"

"Okay," You repeat out dumbly over your tongue. It's all dry and sticky and feels way too big for your mouth.

Brad shuffles from side to side. He looks at you and smiles in a way that won't even melt butter. "It's just...you know, dumb shit. Not like I could fool with it with my step-dad around. Just wanted to see what it was about, y'know?"

"Right."

You wait for a second. Standing there dumb. There's no noise in the house other than your breath and then there's Brad. And it's likely that every other room is abandoned - knowing what he was doing. And so it's just you and Brad and Brad and you and nobody else. For some reason the heat in your stomach flares up just like sparklers people wave 'round on the Fourth of July.

"So what'd you want?"

Everything comes flooding back. Your phone. Moe's. You promised to call Emily.

"It was...it..was a mix up." You stammer as though it's a lie and not the honest-to-God truth of what happened. "I was just practicing. My powers. You know."

"Right."

It's awkward as hell but you don't know if it's worse to allow it to hang like this, but what else would you say? That you came here on accident trying to get your cell phone to call his girlfriend? Ask him what website he was using? There's no easy way out of this. No place to go at all except for out.

"Yeah. So I should probably...leave you to it," You stammer. Brad moves and, almost on instinct, you flinch, remembering his fist in your gut in the middle of the hall.

There's something odd and invasive as you spread your hands over your chest. The combination of the lonesomeness and the way Brad's  _staring at you._ You're scraping your hand over your chest and you can feel your heart throb in your palm. And you don't know why but you spit out "See you later" and shut your eyes tight, thinking of your own bed and your room and the same old regular walls you've had since you moved here. There's just enough time to hear him say " _See ya"_ but you might've just imagined it.

 

* * *

 

You only remember that you forgot to get your phone from Moe's after you've already whipped off your t-shirt and crashed under the duvet. You don't worry too much about it. Emily's kind enough not to hold it against you, especially if she finds your phone at work tomorrow morning. Saturday opening shifts she's almost always there first. So you won't think about that too much. Besides, you're a little preoccupied.

At 10:15 all you wanted was to get your cell back. If only so you could have one of those nervous butterflies-in-stomach phone call with Emily, guessing at the different expressions she'd be wearing.

And now it's only 10:30 and everything's been turned on its head.

You can't help but wonder, if he went back to what he was doing, if you made things worse, if things are gonna be awkward on Monday when you see him in the hallway.

If you hadn't run out with your tail between your legs what would've happened.

Eyes poised on a popcorn ceiling, shadows cast up above from the lights on the street, you can almost hear the dialogue as it might've happened:

Brad might've asked you, "How does that work?"

And you would've said, "I just think about a place and focus and it just...goes."

"You were thinking about me?" Might've been the reply, all excited-like. Or he would've thought you were a creep for that reason and socked you in the gut. Or maybe he might've pulled you close, so close you would've felt his hard-on pressing against your stomach and kissed you over and over again.

But -  _honest now_ \- it's for the best it didn't happen. You're already fucking  _twitterpainted_ for his  _girlfriend._ Just because he was watching something from Sean Cody doesn't mean he actually has a thing for guys and just how many Bi Guy™ stereotypes can you possibly fit into?

And, besides, this is  _Brad_ you're thinking about. This is the guy who was dead set on making your life a living hell before he thought you made his stepfather burst into oblivion.

And, frankly, that's not a good way to start a relationship.

…

Not that that's what was going to happen.

This is the guy with a confusing smile and a spark in his eyes who's just always felt like he had to deal out what he was dealt.

This is the guy who threatened to out you as an evo. This is the guy who has a great mouth and strong hands and slow-healing bruises up and down his ribs.

You sigh, appealing to the still ceiling fan collecting dust above your head, repeating over and over again, as though it'd make a difference:  _this is Brad you're talking about._

Yeah. It is.

* * *

 

It's 12:15 AM when you finally stop fucking ruminating about it and let yourself drift to sleep. Thoughts and dreams will lead your wherever they will anyway.


End file.
